The Age of Reclamation
by Praetor Urbanus
Summary: War. War never changes. Except when it does. And sometimes, a change in the war can forge a new era. Will incorporate Nylonthathep's Mothership Zeta Crew mod (seriously, why did Bethesda not do that themselves?), including lots of add-ons, and lots of OCs.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Pain. His head throbbed with it. His eyes were closed, but that didn't really help the blistering ache in his noggin. Eventually, the pain dimmed to the point that he didn't feel like his head was going to explode. He could tell that he was horizontal on some hard, metallic surface, and that didn't help his head any.

He opened his eyes.

Directly above him was a set of bright lights, giving off a sterile white glow. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the lumens bombarding them.

"You're awake! I was starting to think maybe they'd fried your brains or something."

The voice, which was female, came from his right and below him. He looked for the source, and saw a dark-skinned woman dressed like the Wastelanders he'd met, dirty and unkempt.

He looked around, and saw that he was in some kind of cell. It seemed designed to keep people in them temporarily, as there was no toilet, bed, or other amenities one might expect in a longer term prison. _She said 'they'd fried,'_ _ **'they**_ ' _presumably referring to our captors. Cell lacks facilities for sustained occupation. Her surprise at my regaining consciousness indicates knowledge of prior prisoners, who were either not returned alive or returned with significant reduction in higher brain functions. Conclusion: our captors are planning use us for scientific experiments that are probably dangerous to our health, mental or physical. Will attempt to confirm hypothesis._

"They? Who's they? And who might you be, if I may ask?"

The woman helped him sit up. "My name is Somah. I've been here I don't know how long. 'They' are the things that run the experiments here. Never seen anything like 'em on Earth, so I call 'em 'Aliens.'"

He groaned. _Hypothesis confirmed. Sometimes I wish I had been a less intelligent man._ "My name's Goldman, Gordon Goldman. Pleasure to meet you, Miss Somah. Please tell me you are not a drug addict."

She looked insulted. "I've never had any of that foul stuff pass my lips, kid! Never!"

He held up his hands in a placating gesture. "You've clearly never read Huxley. I did not mean to insult you or your self-control." She seemed to accept his apology. "Given our circumstances, it would seem that escape is in our best interest. They are keeping us alive and unharmed, thus far, clearly indicating that they want us for something. That thing is likely quite bad for us, so I would recommend that we start fighting. If they think we are trying to damage each other, they'll intervene. To do that, they'll need to open the door."

Somah thought about it, clearly torn between wanting to escape and taking orders from a thirteen year old. "OK. I'll do it."

They stood up, stretched, and generally worked out the stiffness from being sedentary. Then they put up their fists and began to hit each other. _I must hold back in this fight. She is not my enemy, and if I win too quickly, it may not accomplish our goal._

Sure enough, the Aliens opened the cell and tried to break up the fight. Gordon's training kicked in, and he hurled Somah on top of one of the Alien guards so he could deal with the other. He killed it with two broken arms, repeated blunt trauma to the head, and its own weapon. _Electrified police baton, now that's an interesting piece of technology. I presume that it's not designed for prolonged contact, given the stench from this one, but it would likely be more effective than a normal baton._

He then turned and slaughtered the one Somah had been holding down. "Thanks, kid. Where'd you learn to fight like that?"

"I would prefer it if you would use my name, Somah. Or would you prefer I start calling you 'Smelly?' He accentuated that by waving his hand in front of his face, as if to remove something malodourous.

She harrumphed, and said "I haven't had a decent bath in months. I'd like to see you go that long and smell fresh as daisies."

He shook his head. "Pick up that baton and follow me. We've got a long way to go."

***Scene Break***

Gordon Goldman was a genius. Even at a tender thirteen years of age, he knew that he was the most intelligent person in Vault 101. Most of his hours were filled with endless study and acquisition of knowledge. He enjoyed working his mind to exhaustion, often alone, simply because he could then talk circles around anyone else, whether old or young. Even if he had been born a dwarf, he would have cast a giant shadow.

Of course, his brilliant mind wasn't all fun and games. Early on, he simply didn't have the drive to exercise his body that the other kids in the Vault did, and he was frequently bullied. The worst of the lot was Butch DeLoria, a boy who very much fit his name. Encounters with him were frequent, unavoidable, and usually ended with his head stuffed in a toilet.

Needless to say, the unpleasant nature of his relationship with Butch soon instilled in the young polymath a substantial drive to improve his body. He began at the age of seven with aerobics, to strengthen his lungs and heart, and resistance exercises to build his muscles. The next year, he began scouring the old databases for knowledge of martial arts, knowing that he would never match DeLoria in a contest of pure strength.

Shortly before his tenth birthday, he was ready. His mind and body were primed for the confrontation with Butch, which he knew would take place right after school. He barely paid attention in his lessons, counting on his hours of studying ahead to carry him through the day til his hour arrived.

The bell announcing the end of the school day rang.

As expected, Butch and his gang of fellow bullies and hangers-on came after him less than two minutes past the bell. He pretended not to notice, letting his feet carry him on at the same leisurely pace he left the classroom in. "Hey, guys, what do you say we have some fun with the squirt over here?" Butch loved to taunt him, but he didn't do it as much as he used to. It's hard to enjoy something when it fails to achieve its purpose. He sneezed into his handkerchief, carrying through with his act of having a cold.

A hand spun him around; it was Butch's. "I'm glad his mom is dead. That way, she doesn't have to see him like this. If she was here, she'd be ashamed."

 _This mustn't register on an emotional level. First, distract target with handkerchief. Next, block his blind jab. Counter with cross to left cheek. Discombobulate. Dazed, will attempt wild haymaker; employ elbow block and body shot. Block feral left; weaken right jaw, now fracture. Break cracked ribs. Traumatize solar plexus. Dislocate jaw entirely. Heel kick to diaphragm. In short, ears ringing, jaw fractured, three ribs cracked, four broken, diaphragm hemorrhaging. Capacity to insult mother neutralized._

Thirty second of shocking violence later, Butch groaned on the floor. His gang stood slack-jawed at the ferocity of the resistance. Gordon watched in satisfaction as they turned tail and ran, no doubt to fetch the Overseer or a security guard. _I was really getting tired of their bullying._ Then he thought of the consequences. _My Dad's going to kill me._

***Scene Break***

One of the benefits of being a genius, Gordon knew from experience, was the planning. Anything he could anticipate, he could counter. These Aliens were no different. He had been exploring the Capital Wasteland for around eighteen months when he found the crash site and saw the gun near it. He was travelling with another at the time, and the boy went out to grab the gun. He was snatched up in some kind of tractor beam, and not seen again. Still curious about the strange craft, he sent in one of his simple probe drones to drag the alien body to him. He studied it for six months. The Aliens were very much like humans, but given the kidnapping of his companion, he thought it best to plan hostilities. Now, he was glad he had.

"Somah, I have weapons and armor in my pack. Help me find it."

He had just smacked down his sixth Alien, and was getting rather annoyed at having to duel each of them in close quarters. _Inadequate security personnel and armament in the cell block. Indicates ignorance of basic military doctrine; shall exploit at every opportunity._

Five minutes of searching containers later, they found the equipment he had packed for this little expedition. Gordon slipped into his custom-manufacture hazardous environment combat suit with a sigh of relief. He picked up his Assault Rifle, chambered for the 5.56x45mm NATO cartridge, and checked his ammo. _Twelve thirty-round box magazines, check. 9mm semiautomatic pistol and twelve fifteen-round clips, check. Fragmentation grenades, check._

His armament secured, he looked over at Somah looking between one of his combat vests, and a 12-guage combat shotgun in her hand. "The big green box is loaded with shells. Red casing indicates 01 buckshot, yellow is slug. Grab a combat knife, one of the pistols, and some clips, as well. We don't know how many of these things there are."

"What are you, kid, a walking arsenal? I don't think I've ever seen so many guns in one boy's pack in my life!" She exclaimed.

Gordon chuckled. "I knew about their hostile nature six months ago, and I've been planning this boarding operation since then. I didn't want to run out of weaponry if I couldn't use any of their stuff."

Somah stared at him, her eyes wide. "You mean you planned to get abducted!?"

"Yes," Gordon nodded. "These Aliens are clearly hostile to humanity, and I judged their physiology to be weak enough that I could handle this myself." Somah picked up a canister. "Be careful with that! It contains a neurotoxin I synthesized to deal with the Aliens, and I don't know what effect, if any, it may have on humans."

Startled, she put it down gingerly. "So what do we do with it?"

"First, you put on one of those HEVC suits. It'll filter out the toxin and provide you with some protection against those things. Second, we make our way around the ship, planting these canisters in as many places as we can. Once they're in place, I detonate them. The gas should clear out the Aliens nicely. We can sweep the ship after that, kill any stragglers."

The woman grinned. "Since you're the man with the plan, I'll follow you boss."

The two armored humans made their way through the cell block, shooting Aliens and searching containers for more gear. They found some, and supplemented their armament with bulky Alien energy pistols. They fired without any projectile spread at all, and hit harder than the SIG Sauers Gordon had brought with him.

They reached a door. "Damn! It's locked," Somah said. Gordon looked around. "No obvious terminals to control access, so I can only assume that it's on the other side. Come on, let's see if there's another way."

In the next room, they met another prisoner. She had grey eyes, blond hair, and looked about ten years old. "Well, hello there, and who might you be?" Gordon asked.

"I'm Sally. The Aliens grabbed me and my sister on our way home from the park. I don't know what happened to her. I hope she's alright. Were you abducted too?"

"It's nice to meet you, Sally. My name is Gordon Goldman. You wouldn't happen to know how to get out of this cell block, would you?" He didn't really think she could help them, but she had been there longer, and he wanted to cover all of his bases.

"Sure! There's a vent system that I can crawl through to open the door. But first you need to overload the nearby power generator. It's through there," she pointed, "just push the three cylinders around it and shoot it."

Gordon shrugged, knowing that he had to help her if he wanted to get out of the cell block and to a terminal he could hack. "Come one, Somah, let's go blow up her generator."

***Scene Break***

Gordon could only describe the next several hours as anti-climactic. The Stealth Boys he had built into his HEVC suits made sneaking through the ship easy, and his access to an Alien console had pinpointed the core element of any starship life support system: the CO2 scrubbers. It took an hour to get there without showing the Aliens his intentions and plant the gas canisters, then three more hours doing the same at critical locations like the Bridge, the Death Ray control room, and the main hangers. At the end of his stealthy, yet violent trek through the impressive vessel, he pushed the button and let the neurotoxin cleanse the ship.

"Say, boss, how long does this stuff last?"

He turned to Somah, who had helped him by keeping Alien attention focused on her. "The toxin dissipates after 24 hours. We should use this time to sweep through the ship and clear out any that managed to survive the purge."

So they did. That process was longer than planting the canisters had been, and more harrowing for both parties. After all, Aliens wearing sealed space suit could certainly survive the gas and jump out of anywhere.

Sally had proven most helpful herself. She knew the ship much better than Gordon thought a prisoner should, and she could interface with the Alien terminals more easily than he could, despite his translation software. She had disappeared a number of times during the operation, and refused to answer any questions about what she had done. _Note to self: plant monitoring device on Sally. Suspected Alien interaction. Probable counterpart(s): the ones wearing red jumpsuits._

Eventually, he judged the ship secure, and announced that to his companions. "Well, it looks like we're the only things still drawing breath on this thing. Now we have to find a way back to Earth. The most likely place to find that information is on the Bridge."

Once looking out at the stars through the Bridge windows, Gordon instructed his companions to check for any teleporter signals from the planet's surface. He bent down and plucked a shiny weapon from the hands of what looked to be the Alien captain, and noticed a blinking light on one of the consoles. He pushed the illuminated button.

"Attention! To anyone who can hear my voice. I am Major William Harkin. My men and I are stranded at the Tricell Chemical factory. We request immediate assistance. I repeat: We are stranded at the Tricell Chemical factory and request immediate assistance."

Gordon looked at his Pip-Boy 3000, heavily modified for much higher processing power and storage capacity, and pinpointed the source of the distress call. "Well, this is interesting. I'm going to go check this out."

Locating a way back to Earth didn't take much longer. Gordon's Pip-Boy was more than sufficient to override the pitiful security on the Alien computer systems and launch a teleport beacon to a location of his choosing. One transport later, and he was standing very close to the freight elevator to Vault 101. He entered the garage, noted that his rover had returned to base as programmed, and hopped back in.

The drive to the source of the radio signal took him a few hours. When he arrived, he noted a heavy concentration of Super Mutants, and decided that discretion was the better part of valor.

 _Thank God I recharged the stealth systems on this suit after the Alien ship,_ he mused. _This would have been most harrowing otherwise._ He entered the factory, immediately spotting the massive Super Mutant behemoth. _I didn't think I'd be facing one of_ those _! I didn't bring any heavy ordnance!_ After a bit of thought, he snuck around to the console on the other side of the room and activated it, hoping to find some kind of halon-based fire suppression system. But mere seconds after touching the keyboard, the machinery exploded in miniature nuclear fireballs. Thankfully, the console itself shielded him from the blasts, and his suit rendered him much less susceptible to radiation exposure.

Gordon walked down onto the floor, among the large, green corpses. _Note to self: commence experiment on Super Mutant DNA to isolate changes from human normal. Goal: cure or effective toxin for mass extermination._

A door near the back of the room had been blown off its hinges by the exploding machines, and he passed through the whole. At the end of the short corridor beyond, he opened the next door and walked into another room.

Behind a small wall of crates stood three humans, two wearing some kind of advanced combat armor, the third what looked like an officer's uniform. "Thank you stranger. You're just in the nick of time. I was beginning to worry that our ammunition would run out before a rescue could be mounted. Though you do look rather short for a soldier."

Gordon looked the man over. He seemed in his mid to late forties, with what little hair he had turning gray. The voice was familiar, however. "I am Gordon Goldman. I am no soldier, just a simple Vault dweller out for a drive. Now then, your message said you were a Major, does that mean you are a military officer? And is it connected to that insignia on your cap? I saw it once before, on a corpse, and I could only think that it looked like it was connected to the US Army or something."

Harkin looked somewhat surprised. "You saw an Enclave officer? Where?"

Within his helmet, Gordon smiled. "One answer at a time, now. I do believe you still owe me one."

The man nodded, and said "I am Major William Harkin, formerly of the Enclave Armed Forces. My men and I had irreconcilable differences with the High Command and the President, and chose to leave rather than put our skills to assignment we judged crimes against humanity. The Enclave say they are the remnants of the United States government and military, which fits your supposition. Where did you see this Enclave officer? I don't think any operations have been conducted in the Wasteland or in any Vaults."

"I saw the dead officer on board a ship, he didn't look to good, almost like he'd been tortured, then patched up roughly and dropped back in his cell. Don't bother looking for the perpetrators; they're all dead now. As you are deserters, may I assume that you're looking for a safe place to call home?"

Harkin nodded. "You assume correctly. We have been hounded by the rest of the Enclave for deserting. We even had to abandon our power armor to prevent them from tracking us down. We tried to join the Brotherhood of Steel, but they just shot at us before we could really make our case. I'm afraid that the only way for us to be safe is to vanish from the face of the Earth!"

Gordon chuckled. "Interesting way of phrasing it. That's exactly what I have to offer."

"I beg your pardon? I don't think I really follow you." Harkin asked.

"How would you like to become a god?"

A/N: If you haven't seen the first Sherlock Holmes film, with Robert Downey Jr, go watch the fight scene.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Gordon knew that he had probably overdone it just a tad in his first meeting with Harkin. The man looked like he was about to dismiss Gordon's words as the ravings of a madman, but he agreed to take a gander at what was being offered and then decide. Gordon would never really know why the ex-Enclave officer trusted him after so short a time, but he took it, and him, up to the mothership.

"I call it the _Olympus_ , after the mythical home of the gods. I thought, 'if anyone saw this, they'd probably call a lot of it magic,' so it seems strangely fitting."

Harkin didn't register that someone was speaking to him; he seemed too dumbfounded by the fact that yes, he was looking down on that speck of blue rock that was the Earth. Then he blinked. "If this ship can do what I think it can, then the name is appropriate. This is a veritable fortress city, beyond the reach of corruption and war. Perhaps the _Olympus_ could help us rebuild civilization. I hope it can"

Gordon chuckled, shaking his head. He should have expected this reaction. "I haven't fully explored the vessel yet, but it seems large enough for our needs. Perhaps the troopers I saw back in your bunker would help complete that task?"

"For a chance at a home so safe it might as well be immune to attack, they'll do just about anything. We have been on the run for some time. Take me back to them; it's time got some proper rest."

***Scene Break***

The former Enclave infantry company proved most amenable to taking up residence onboard the onetime Alien Mothership, and moved in quickly. Thanks to the well-disciplined troops, exploring the ship only lasted three weeks, and they had maps of the ship's corridors three days after that. The Living Quarters became quite packed with people who were glad to finally have a safe place to lay their heads at night. The areas of the ship they moved into, regardless of function, were cleaned of all the trash, bodies, and general detritus in short order.

Harkin had given him the radio frequency the other detachments of his company would expect, and Gordon had put it to use gathering all four hundred seventeen deserters together. Once they had all arrived on board, he tallied them up. They had one full company of infantry, 160 strong; with command and support echelon personnel, Alpha Company numbered one hundred ninety. They had two full platoons of Special Forces, totaling thirty-six troopers, seven officers, and five support. Twenty pilots had deserted with Harkin, and though they had trained in the A/CV-02 Vertibird, Gordon felt confident that they could retrain with the saucer-like Alien spacecraft. The engineers numbered fifty-five, and he set them to work trying to learn the Alien systems. A total of 69 researchers had chosen to join them. Twenty-two were in the medical and biological sciences, and continued in their work for the TSC. The rest had been in power armor, weapons, and other technological fields, which were all very much in demand. Nineteen had once been Enclave Intelligence, and they were organized into a new Secret Intelligence Service, which some had already started calling the Seraphim. The rest were civilian administrators, skilled primarily in keeping industrial processes running smoothly.

Of course, Gordon wasn't satisfied with just these. Harkin had actually hit his goal right on the nose, and to begin the process of reconstruction, they would need more soldiers, more engineers, more doctors, more everything. He directed Harkin to begin secretly recruiting the best minds in the Wastelands and bring them to the _Olympus_ to conduct their research and pursue further education. They had decided to name their new faction the Terran Starship Command.

Harkin had, however, discovered that their generous benefactor was, in fact, a thirteen year old. He was most put out at that, but he still had to respect Gordon's mind. Knowing that he'd have trouble running the TSC on his own anyway, the near-man from Vault 101 asked Harkin to form a ruling council of the heads of each division. One of the more prominent scientists, Dr. Robert Nylus, was tapped to lead the TSC Science Division. Dr. Lauren Nadia was made head of the Biomedical Division, primarily based on her work in reversing Ghoulification. Hans Schmidt, who carried out the founding of the TSC SIS, was a shoo-in to lead it. Harkin brought in a former Major named Stuart Jackson to take command of all their ground forces, and begin designing the training regimen for the TSC Army. Jackson recommended Lieutenant Eric Mallore, a gifted pilot and decent leader, to head the new Air Force. The final member of the Council was Ayumi Tanaka, who became Civilian Affairs Coordinator.

At Harkin's suggestion, Gordon revealed his true identity at the first session of the Starship Council. They had been shocked that the seemingly next best hope of humanity was led by a teenager, but they adjusted to it well enough; each of them was sufficiently intelligent to recognize his genius as a founder, and decided to follow his lead. Gordon did know that they privately resolved to keep a close eye on him. He was only thirteen, after all.

Most of their early efforts were in recruiting and research. As they all reasoned, they had no idea how to work everything on the _Olympus_ , and that had to change before they could do any good with it. Gordon's rather primitive translator was an excellent tool for all the scientists and engineers, once it had been refined by the only actual linguist in their little brain trust, and found extensive use in understanding everything. That still took time, though. It was a good nine months before they had a sufficient handle on all the vital systems to actually risk operations on Earth.

***Scene Break***

In the meantime, Gordon had to maintain appearances. He was only a thirteen-year-old boy on the cusp of manhood, after all, and that meant that he was expected to attend school back in Vault 101. His father had long-since adjusted to the fact that his son had intellectually outstripped him before puberty, but most of the other adults in the place acted rather suspiciously around him.

He had first noticed that behavior at nine years of age, and asked about it. Neither his father, nor anyone else, could give him a satisfactory answer. Some just avoided the questions altogether. Having hit a dead end in interviews, he moved on to his burgeoning skills at hacking, and gained illicit access to the Vault central computer. He discovered there that he and his father were from outside the Vault, and had only been allowed in because his medically-skilled father had arrived just after the last doctor died. _Fact: I am from the 'Wasteland,' as they call it. Fact: Wastelanders, in general, are uneducated and wander-prone. Conclusion: the inhabitants of Vault 101 expect me to pick up and leave at adulthood, therefore feel no need to actually try to make me feel at home._

The children his age and younger displayed none of the behavioral anomalies that the adults did, so Gordon reasoned that all contact with the outside world had been officially forgotten, and not spoken of anywhere. _The level of protection around those files indicates that the Overseer, or some other authority, has decided to keep the knowledge secret. He likely hopes that not speaking of it will cause the children to not question the utter isolation of Vault 101. Reasons unknown, possibly to maintain power._

Once he was a bit older, Gordon knew that he could get away with quite a bit more by establishing himself as a sort of mad scientist. He could shut himself away in the section with his elevator he had sealed to all but him as his 'laboratory' to conduct experiments that the Overseer would want kept away from other residents, and then fake irradiation or contagious mutations to prevent any casual attempts to access the truth.

But for now, he had to do his homework, ignore the looks from Butch and his gang, and try to stay below the Overseer's radar. Of course, fate had other ideas.

"Gordon! I thought you said we would study together last night. I waited up for you."

 _Ah, Amata Almodovar,_ Gordon sighed. He had forgotten their study date in the excitement of a successful test of an early prototype hybrid laser-Alien energy weapon. "I'm sorry Amata. I should have let you know I'd miss last night. I was in what will be my lab and I just got caught up in my work."

She gave him a very peeved look. "I didn't know that I was so low on your to-do list," she said, in a tone more frosty than he had heard her direct at him. "Perhaps you don't value our arrangement anymore. I can think of no other reason for your uncharacteristic memory lapse."

Like any male of the human species confronted with a close female friend questioning their relationship, Gordon said, "Of course I value our arrangement. I like to think we're best friends, and like all such people, we know each other quite well." He paused, wondering how to regain her goodwill, and continued. "I'm free tonight. Let's have that study date before either of us forgets about it again."

He thought that scheduling their event for that very evening would ease Amata's anger at him, but it visibly didn't reassure her much.

"See you tonight, then," she said in a slightly warmer tone. "Five o'clock?"

Gordon nodded. "I'll bring my nice calculator. I know that you like using it." He knew that would encourage Amata to forgive him, as she just couldn't get enough of the advanced calculator Gordon had designed. She was constantly borrowing it, and always begged him to just make one for her, but he had refused. He didn't want the Overseer getting wind of just how brilliant he was from watching his daughter do homework.

The adult population of the Vault already knew that he wasn't one of them, including the Overseer. It was bad enough that some were jealous of his get intelligence. If he pissed anyone off, getting kicked out of the Vault was the least of their worries; the other residents might start saying that he was a mutant and subject him to experiments to find the altered genetic sequence that produced his intellect. _Becoming a test subject for these small-minded inbreeds is not high on my list of priorities. It never will be, as far as I'm concerned._

School that day was boring, as usual. He had studied the material Mr. Brotch was covering months ago, and had little trouble recalling it, so he barely paid attention. _Note for potential future research topic: the source of my seemingly selective memory lapses._ He only interacted with others during class when the teacher actually called on him to answer a question.

Mr. Brotch was one of those who had already adjusted to his greater than average intelligence, and showed it by not asking him to speak in front of the class very often. The tall, black, somewhat sarcastic schoolteacher knew that Gordon had no desire to show off every day as well as the boy in question did. They both knew that he got his fix for that in the class reports and homework assignments. Mr. Brotch was also one of the more intellectually-capable residents of the Vault, and had earned both Gordon's and his father's trust.

The only other individual who could say the same thing was Jonas Palmer, James Goldman's medical technician. He had walked in on father and son discussing the state of the Vault's gene pool, and was rather shocked at how soon they said inbreeding would begin having noticeable effects. Giving the man the answers he was after took more than two hours, most of it in undertones, and left him more than a bit shaken that they had so little time. _Note for Civilian Affairs: recruitment of Jonas Palmer for medical training/employment will be easier than predicted. Note for Biomedical: begin planning for breeding Vault 101 residents into the general population after transition of authority. No sense wasting perfectly-good fertility._

The bell rang.

Train of thought thoroughly derailed, Gordon packed up his books and left the classroom. He looked at his Pip-Boy, and saw that he had about an hour before his rendezvous with Amata. He thought it was unlikely to be any more than a study session, but she was his best friend, and it would be perfectly natural to explore their developing hormones together a bit. He also knew better than to think he could get away with much, considering his position.

He smiled at Amata and nodded. She returned both. Then he went back to his dad's apartment; he needed a shower and a change of monotonous jumpsuit for that afternoon. Studying with his best friend usually included dinner, and he wanted to be a bit more cleaned up than usual. He thought that would make her more likely to forgive him.

"Hello, son. How was school?"

"The usual: boring as all get out. I had my homework for today done weeks ago, so there was little point in even going. I'm going to go get showered; I have a study session with Amata at 5," Gordon answered his father.

James Goldman, a man of about one point sixty-eight meters height, looked at his son. "You've been spending a lot of time with Amata, lately. What are you hoping to get from her?"

"I want what I already have with her: friendship and companionship," Gordon responded.

James sighed. He seemed to gather himself, then launched into what he likely considered a somewhat embarrassing topic. "Have you ever thought about how different you are from Amata, Gordon?"

The teenager considered. "I am a good deal more logical than she is, as shown in my higher scores on mathematical and scientific subject tests. She understands how to communicate with people better than I do. I'd have more friends if it was otherwise." He paused, pondering how to put his thoughts to words, then continued. "But if this is what I think it is, then I know she is female, and I male. The two of us becoming more than friends, at least for a time, is highly probable, given our history. I see no problem with that. And before you embarrass me too much, I have already studied the particulars of the process with what little material I have available."

The widowed father sputtered a bit at his son's admission. _Given Dad's reaction, I can theorize that he hadn't expected me to actually study the subject. Yet he is also aware of my proclivities regarding knowledge. Reasons for this disparity: unknown. Conjecture based on popular wisdom would attribute this to the innate cultural embarrassment at discussing bodily functions._

The young 'mad scientist' in training was rather puzzled by that thought. Reproduction is, after all, one of the two core physical motivators for all human effort. To ensure the survival of the species, it would be entirely natural to presume that members of the species would have some inherent understanding of the process and be able to put it into action.

But he had more important things to think about than the prospect of finding a wife and begetting children with her. He was the leader of the newest and most technologically-advanced faction in the world, and he had a rather specific plan for it. Rebuilding society is not something one just does overnight, no sir!

***Scene Break***

That Friday evening, Gordon returned to the _Olympus_. He had a great deal of work as Supreme Commander of the TSC, and all of it needed to be done somehow. Too often, he was the only one who could, and even if he wasn't, he knew better than to ignore it. How could he be sure he was making the best decisions without the most complete understanding of the subject matter?

He had been born on the 15th of March, 2259, and his Pip-Boy reported the current date as February 2nd 2273, so he calculated that he had four more years before he could dispense with the teleporter pad in his quarters. He'd had it installed to minimize the risk of his true identity leaking to the rank and file as he journeyed to and from Vault 101. That would take morale out back and shoot it in the head.

His quarters were spacious and almost luxurious. They were normally lit with a soft blue glow that lent an air of mystique to himself, and he rather enjoyed that feeling, even if no-one saw him in it. His bed was large and more comfortable than the one he enjoyed in the Vault. His sitting area had a decorative fish tank, and next to that, a wine rack. He didn't drink, and probably never would, thanks to the detrimental effects on cognitive function he knew it caused, but the aesthetics were nice.

He walked over to his closet, unzipping his jumpsuit as he went. He knew that while the clothes do not necessarily make the man, they certainly help put him in the right frame of mind; that's why soldiers, doctors, and politicians all wore the uniforms they did. His own as Supreme Commander was deceptively simple: the boots, slacks, shirt, and jacket were all black. The only ornamentation were the silver stars on his shoulderboards denoting his rank as a Grand Admiral, the silver wreath on his cap, and the silver badge of the TSC on his chest.

Suitably attired, Gordon exited his quarters and entered his office. Right at the back of the room was his custom-fabricated desk chair and the desk he used. It looked high-tech, much like his organization, and followed the dictum of 'form follows function.' Everything was designed for practical use. In front of the desk sat two chairs, less comfortable than his own to keep any visitors partially off-balance when dealing with him.

He sat down at his desk and activated the computer. Thanks to his programming skills and the Alien tech, it was light-years ahead of anything else produced by man. It was networked to all the other computers on the ship, able to access records from any of them, whenever the need arose. He pulled up the latest batch of reports from the division leaders.

 _Dr. Nadia has finally cracked the Alien Biogel formula, adapting it to human physiology, with double the effectiveness. Jackson will be pleased with that; better field medicine projected to cut casualties in Phase One by 30%. Commendation for Lt. Tercorian, primary expert on the subject: approved. That man will go far. Orders for Production: convert all Biogel synthesizing to the adapted formula._

 _Wing Commander Mallore's pilots are still having trouble with the Alien Saucer controls. Perhaps some VR training is in order there. As long as they don't know it's simulated until after any exercise, that might be the best option. Orders for production: procure one or more VR pods; coordinate with Army if needed to retrieve from the surface. Orders for Mallore: begin planning training missions for use with simulators and/or live flight exercises._

 _Intel: full dossiers on Capital Wasteland factions; right on schedule. Permission requested for deeper penetration of military and economic assets. No; I think our assets would be better deployed to observe other factions in Virginia, Maryland, and Delaware. Have Schmidt begin planning operations for that. We have time for more in-depth analysis later._

 _Ion Cannon still stumping you, eh, Nylus? Not that I'm surprised; I did take great care to disable that on my way through the ship. It just made me nervous, having that pointed in the general direction of my home. Power armor plans coming along slowly; but I want so much from Science Division that developing our own from scratch might have to take a backseat. Have Intel investigate all pre-War nations that had power armor; perhaps one of their old facilities can furnish us with something we can simply improve to our standards. Have Civilian Affairs begin training a diplomatic service, just in case the armor is not abandoned. Strange sensor readings from under the Atlantic Ocean? Alien logs indicate a base there? This is not good. I'll have to bring the Council in on this one._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Gordon sat calmly in his seat in the room that had been appropriated for meetings of the Starship Council. It was circular, and rather large, with eight comfortable chairs arranged in a ring facing inward in the center. But its most interesting feature was the fact that the room could switch the rather bland grey walls for a fantastic view of space outside the ship. That was partially why he'd insisted that the Council hold their sessions inside it; the view of the planet below and the stars above impressed the gravity of the words spoken and decisions made in that room upon all who entered it.

He hadn't been sitting for too long when the other seven members of the Council trooped through the door. This meeting had not been scheduled, so most looked interested, and two or three seemed annoyed at having been summoned away from what they considered their more important work. The only one not curious or trying to hide their scowl was Nihlus, who had confirmed the need for the meeting, and thus already knew what they had to talk about.

 _Irritating though taking orders from a teenager may be, I happen to think this is worth the disruption. It won't take long anyway…_ Gordon thought.

After all eight of the highest individuals in the TSC had settled into their chairs, Gordon loaded the readings Nihlus had taken for him into the holoprojector, ready to by displayed for everyone.

Vice Admiral Harkin opened the session, in much the same way that he had every other.

"This unscheduled meeting of the Terran Starship Council, dated February 3rd, 2273 is now in session. As it was called by our Supreme Commander without prior notice, I cannot give you any indication of what he wants to discuss."

All heads turned toward the smallest of their number, who executed the command to display his data on the holoprojector.

"Thank you, William. In reading over Nihlus' most recent report, I spotted some data that concerns me. At 0945 ship's time February 2nd 2273, the ship's sensors picked up some strange readings from under the Atlantic Ocean, North 35° 36' 13.3875" West 37° 0' 7.0313". The data pattern resembled what my Pip-Boy recorded here on the _Olympus_. Naturally, I wished to gather more information before jumping to conclusions. Nihlus, what did you find on deeper scan?"

The middle-aged scientist looked rather grave as he leaned forward to give his report, the holoprojector switching over to the more detailed data.

"The more intensive sensor sweeps over the location has pinpointed a facility that could not have been built by any pre-War power, national or otherwise. The data that got picked up on initial scan matched that given off by discharges of the Alien weapons, and the deeper scan picked up the same thing, but at much lower rate of occurrence. The Commander and I can only conclude that there is an Alien facility there, and we must secure it."

General Jackson spoke up then, his aggressive militarism and southern accent on proud display.

"I agree. Any Aliens are a threat, not just to us, but to the whole human race. They must be eliminated, by any means necessary!"

The other members of the Council quickly followed suit, though most were more restrained in their language and vehemence. Gordon knew that the subject of Aliens was one of the few that he did not have to play moderator to some degree on; all members of the Council had been fully briefed on the atrocities these animals had inflicted on humanity, and that any attempt at peace with them was doomed from the start.

"I agree that the Alien threat must be purged from our planet," said Schmidt, "but how will we actually get there? And once there, how will we deal with the possibility of underwater operations?"

Nihlus replied, plugging his laptop computer into the room's holoprojector and bringing up a diagram of what looked like an advanced combat suit.

"I have been working on a special armored environmental suit, based on the Supreme Commander's excellent work, as a stopgap measure until research and development on Project Aegis is completed. The design is quite able to function in vacuum and underwater for short periods of time. Five suits are fully operational; prototypes, to be sure, as I just sent off the orders to Production for enough to equip our special forces. As for method of deployment, the sensors picked up a cargo transporter that we can connect to from our own. I'm confident that we can hack it to gain access and lock them out."

Gordon looked over to General Jackson.

"General, which is your best squad of special operators?"

The southern gentleman who lived up to the reputation of the last General with his last name replied quickly.

"That would be Fireteam Artemis. They have surpassed all others in skill and training. Whatever the mission, they are ready."

"Good. Inform Fireteam Artemis that they are being deployed tomorrow at 0600 for insertion in hostile territory. Their primary objective is to locate and secure the control center for the Alien facility, to ensure our regulars and other Spec Ops aren't drowned while they clear it for research and other civilian personnel to move in. I might insist on going with them myself, but I'm probably a little on the short side for the fifth suit, so I insist they deploy with four Mr. Gutsies and a Longsword for extra firepower and a set of my Xenotoxin grenades. Chemical warfare may be somewhat dishonorable, but these beasts don't deserve any quarter."

***Scene Break***

After the Council session had concluded, Gordon returned to his office to consider other problems. Assuming that the facility scheduled for clearing within forty-eight hours was the last of the Alien presence they would encounter for the foreseeable future, their only problems were on Earth and nowhere near as advanced, technologically or economically. That did not mean, of course, that those problems could be easily overcome. Reconstruction would take a long time, given the extent of the damage, and not everyone would be glad to see it.

His plan consisted of four phases, each one with a different objective. Phase One was simply clearing out all the dangerous and undesirable elements, the forces of chaos and death that had taken root in the centuries since Armageddon. Dangerous mutants, Raiders, Slavers, and more nefarious characters would not be good for the stability of his reborn civil society. This was projected to be the easiest and least time-consuming part, as most threats in his chosen starting point, Washington, DC, were either Raiders or beasts of some kind. The only real opposition in that area would be found in the Super Mutants and Talon Company.

Phase Two was primarily construction, as most of the infrastructure had been torn apart and never put back together. Communications, transportation, education, healthcare, law enforcement, technology, and production were all necessary to the function of a civil society, and very few places had any of these, really. Those that did were usually barely scraping by, and not inclined to share if they weren't. Vault 101 would probably give him the educated people he needed to start training maintenance and other technicians, as long as he could convince them to help. _Or just plain intimidate them with soldiers in power armor. That would probably work better, given my observations of their behavior towards me._ This part would take some time, but it could also take place alongside Phase Three.

Phase Three was repopulation. To fuel his new production base, and the military needed to defend and expand it, he needed men, trained to do the best job possible. He did, however, have a limit on this. _I do not want dependent, needy refugees; I can't afford to spend the resources to sustain people who don't contribute. That is, after all, the rule in post-apocalyptia._ He wanted all the citizens in his society to be productive, and that meant, first, finding something for them to be so at, second, housing to shield them from the elements, third, a steady supply of clean food and water, and of course, fourth, safety. All goals depended on having infrastructure in place to support his citizens either before they moved in, or shortly after.

To sustain this civil society beyond the short term, birthrates would have to skyrocket. _All people age and die, and I must be able to replace them if I want to keep the reconstruction efforts going. And people living on the subsistence line are not inclined to reproduce. Then again, convincing them to get busy will probably be easier than civilizing them._

Phase Four was the most ambitious, but also the most distant. Simply put, Phase Four was to restart the engines of progress, so humanity could build grander and stronger than ever before. All three prior phases had to be completed to a certain degree first, as research and development is usually weak and understaffed in a post-apocalyptic environment. He could not rule out the possibility of a full-blown war with the Aliens if they were still out there and came to Earth, so Humanity needed to be ready for them. They most certainly weren't in 2273.

The best place to start was Washington DC. First, the city was politically important; nearly everyone in the post-War United States remembered tales of pre-War glory, most centered in the capital of the USA. Restoring it would give people hope for a better life more than anything else save actually lifting them out the hardscrabble remains of advanced society. Second, his father had built a reputation as a dreamer who actually tried to fix the problems of the world, rather than as someone who simply survived them. That gave him a bit of leverage to acquire the cooperation of most of the settlements and some of the better-equipped factions in the area, which would make the political unification easier. If he completed the work his father began, and delivered clean water to the common man, he would have an even stronger position. Third, much of the city had not actually been fully destroyed; all the raw materials were there waiting to be used to rebuild once he had the machinery and skilled labor to do so.

He looked at the map he kept on his computer, settlements and facilities marked with population levels, economic statistics, and various other indicators. Most had dates on them, denoting when expansion into those areas was scheduled to begin. The earliest were, of course, military bases, research complexes, and aerospace facilities. _The first would likely have weapons and materials stockpiles we could appropriate, and then we can project power through them; they're already fortified against attack, so it wouldn't cost much to bring them up to our specs. The second might house valuable scientific information and technology, which will supplement and enhance what we looted from the Aliens_. _The third are a danger to us, even if I'm not sure they actually can be used against the_ Olympus _. But better safe than sorry; only an idiot leaves his people and resources exposed to enemy operations, after all._

***Scene Break***

Early the next day, Gordon entered his office and activated the command suite within. Since his identity was unknown to the vast majority of TSC personnel, and the organization would fall apart if he revealed himself while still visibly a teenager, he couldn't just pop into the bridge and ask his XO for status updates. He planned to introduce himself to his entire organization before they began Phase One in earnest, but that time was not yet upon him. He wanted to build up a history of wise and effective policies and decisions that could convince the average man that he was not to be questioned on account of his age before it became an issue.

His Command, Control, Communications, Computer and Intelligence suite was the culmination of some of his finest ideas. Since he had an extremely small number of military personnel, he needed to find ways to increase what they could do. Their training was arguably the best in the post-War world already, so that worked in his favor. The manufacturing facilities on the ship and in Vault 101 provided his troops with the finest equipment Earth militaries had ever produced save for power armor, which was still in R&D. Antigravity pad, or repulsorlift, drones and vehicles made crew-served weapons just as mobile as small arms, so even without power armor they had heavier firepower than most other factions. They didn't have to worry about ammunition or other supplies, as the Alien teleporters let them transfer goods produced anywhere to anywhere else in seconds. Study of the Alien sensors even gave them a man-portable sensor module that could locate and identify targets by motion, heat signature or electromagnetic fields at distances of fifty meters.

Then he introduced Nihlus and Jackson to the concept of the Battle Network. There were two parts to the system, the Auxillia Combat Suits each soldier wore and the drone support.

The suits were composed of an armored shell over a latex body glove sealed against Nuclear, Biological, Chemical (NBC) exposure, and a computer in the helmet to provide tactical aid (called a Tac-Comp). The armor plates themselves were able to deflect or absorb anything with less energy than a 7.62mm steel jacket armor-piercing round, which greatly decreased their risk when in the field, as not many people had AP rounds available. The HUD in each helmet displayed the soldier's current health data, ammo count, a targeting reticle, a mini-map of the immediate area with sensor data overlaid on it, a small picture-in-picture to display camera feeds from other soldiers and drones, and a secure communications system, for both voice and data. All of it helped every soldier work together with his squad mates and exchange tactical data with them, his superiors, and any support elements in the Area of Operations on the fly.

Alien drone technology was quite a bit more flexible than the Aliens had known; a platform of this type could fly at up to one-hundred meters, moving or not, and perform a wide variety of functions. So, they built several types of automated drones to support their forces, and networked them into the same communications system used by the soldiers.

The most basic was the recon drone, or the Unmanned Arial Reconnaissance Probe, which would hover above the AO and supply sensor data on anything below it.

They had a ground-based transport drone, the Multifunctional Utility/Logistics and Equipment, which carried heavier gear and supplies for the troopers in the field, making extended operations much easier.

They built a dedicated combat drone, the UCGV-1 Longsword, equipped with dual 7.62mm Miniguns for anti-infantry and a 40mm automatic grenade launcher which could serve as both anti-armor and a light mortar.

They even built an Unmanned Combat Aerial Vehicle, called the Predator for airstrikes, usually loaded with a 20mm Autocannon and anti-armor missiles or mini nukes. Each drone was networked with the armor suits the soldiers wore so they could all order support where needed.

The C4I suite was a natural outgrowth of the BattleNet. Since all of the data was being collected anyway, it was little trouble to deploy transceivers so those not in the field could receive real-time updates and issue orders. It had not yet been used in combat, but all simulations and non-combat tests showed it performed admirably. Commanders with this kind of access could do a lot more good than any other of their job description in history, if they used it wisely.

This mission in the Alien facility, however, was a bit more dangerous. One, the interior was somehow shielded against the sensors aboard the _Olympus_ , so Artemis team would be going in with no more than a basic idea of what the place looked like and no real-time tracking of threats beyond their own sensor range, assuming it worked in there. Second, it was all indoor space, so they didn't have the headroom for air or artillery fire support. That did not prevent them from using those meant to hover closer to the ground, so he'd ordered them to take robots and a drone with them to increase their odds of survival.

The four members of Artemis team were in the Main Hanger, gearing up for their mission. Gordon linked his suite to the BattleNet, and the previously-hidden screens popped our of the walls. Some displayed the feeds from each camera, while others showed him the soldier status data from the suits. Lieutenant Naoko Kurosawa, CO of Artemis, Sergeant Ethan Hawk, Close Assault Specialist and XO, Private Marcos Ruiz, Combat Engineering, and Private Seamus McManus, Heavy Weapons looked fine for elite operatives about to deploy into hostile territory.

Everything was working perfectly.

General Jackson then walked into one of the feeds.

"OK, Artemis team," he drawled in his official tone, "this is the most important assignment you will ever go on. You've all received your briefing materials for the mission, and you know what's at stake. If we can take this facility and exterminate the Aliens within, we will have ended the threat they pose for the foreseeable future. Ship sensors have pinpointed what we think is control room you must secure: it is at the top of the central tower of the surface section of the facility. What little we have on the layout has been uploaded to your Tac-Comps. Good luck, and Godspeed!"

He concluded his remarks with a crisp salute, which they returned.

Artemis team then trotted to the cargo transporter located just off the Main Hanger. Doctor Phillip Skinner, transport chief, announced that the teleporter was connected to the insertion point, and no attempt had been made to shut it down. Gordon noted that this was a bit unusual for what he thought was supposed to be a secret facility, and sent his suspicions to Lt. Kurosawa via text-file message-burst.

She ordered the Mr. Gutsies and the Longsword to deploy first and secure the immediate area, agreeing with her Commander that something that seemed too easy was probably a trap of some kind. But the robotic vanguard reported only an empty cavern with metal walkways going down from the pad to a large door built into one wall. The remote-controlled cameras mounted on them confirmed it. No enemy presence could be detected.

The elite special ops squad shrugged their shoulders, stood on the pad, took a deep breath, and beamed down.


End file.
